


Dream A Little Dream Of Me

by ghiblitears



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: F/F, First Kiss, Genderbending, Getting Together, Party, fem!sheith, it's sheith it's lesbians it's a party let's do this, vague raypunk vibes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:28:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24364324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghiblitears/pseuds/ghiblitears
Summary: There isn't much for Shiro to enjoy in a long night of pleasantries and propriety. Luckily, she has someone who can whisk her away to a better evening.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 12





	Dream A Little Dream Of Me

**Author's Note:**

> To everyone who draws or writes fem!sheith.... thank you. You have inspired me.
> 
> I listened to an oldies playlist the entire time I wrote this, hence the title. Is it bad that I want a raypunk reboot of VLD now? Is that something I have to write?
> 
> Infinite thank yous to ImaginationCubed for sprinting with me and encouraging me!

A Garrison Gala is not exactly an invitation to let loose. Shiro is here on almost-orders to socialize and make nice with the higher ups now that the war is over and the world has worked hard to rebuild itself, and even though she thinks she's earned some leeway on how she needs to conduct herself at one of these functions (saving the universe should count for something, right?), there's still a sort of propriety that hangs over her for the evening. They had advertised the party as a "casual" affair -- definitely a celebration they've earned, after everything that got them there -- but there were still formalities to be taken care of. 

She's currently stuck listening to an old admiral's story she's heard at one of these parties before, nursing a glass of heavy wine and trying not to fall asleep. The gala hall is warm and softly lit by electric wall sconces and chandeliers that throw dancing light into the dark corners. They're in the main hall of one of the estates, and she had started to wonder when it would be appropriate to call for a car to take her back to the base. The heels are starting to hurt her feet, and the evening gown, though beautiful, doesn’t exactly make her feel protected. Its bodice and skirt of black silk is hardly the kind of thing she would wear in the Garrison base even before she had risen through its ranks, and even now it feels somewhat inappropriate to be done up with such grandeur. The downside to wearing  armour so often is that anything not plated or metal has started to feel inadequate, and she's been masking her discomfort beneath pretty smiles and a painted face for the entire evening. 

"-- but I'm sure it's nothing, compared to what you've seen, Miss  Shirogane !" The admiral finishes his story and his attention falls back on her. Shiro snaps back to attention on impulse. "Your exploits in the Garrison flight program precede you." 

"Oh, well -- I suppose they do." She lowers her glass and feigns a patented, winning,  Shirogane smile, sunny even underneath a face that's scarred and tired. She's picked up a few skills since enlisting, and being a chameleon in the party atmosphere is one of them, no matter how out of place she feels. "But you all must have seen it all by now. Aliens are old news, after all." 

"Nonsense! If any one of us had experienced half of what you have, we would be harder to get ahold of for a conversation!" 

She laughs, because it seems like the right thing to do. It appears that way when the rest of the group follows suit. Just when she thinks she has this group schmoozed to  perfection, the admiral leans in with a conspiratorial look. 

"Miss  Shirogane , you must know we've all read your reports --" there are nods of agreement at his words. "-- but just between us, I know how clinical those things can be. Would you mind telling us about what really happened? I'm sure it's a more exciting tale in your own words, rather than the Garrison's." 

Shiro's heart sinks, but before she's forced into a retelling of the Kerberos Incident and the beginning of the Voltron coalition for the third time this evening, a hand falls on her shoulder and another figure slides into the periphery of their small circle. 

"Pardon me," a low, sweet voice intrudes -- and it takes all of Shiro's willpower to not sag in relief, because it's a voice that belongs to her  favourite person in the universe. "Commander Iverson has been looking for Miss  Shirogane ." 

The admiral's eyes widen. "Of course -- don't let us keep you, Miss --" 

"Thanks." Before he has a chance to finish his sentence, Shiro finds herself being led away from the group, back towards one of hall exits. She follows her captor, stepping carefully around the other partygoers as they head for a corner, dark and hidden away from the rest of the party. 

Shiro breathes a sigh of relief. "I owe you one, Keith." 

Keith makes a dismissive noise, difficult to hear over the party din. "I told you I would save you as many times as it takes, and that includes from disappointing party conversation." She glances back and smirks. “ _ Miss  _ _ Shirogane _ .” 

Shiro rolls her eyes, hardly mad at the ridiculous way she mocks their higher-ups. 

They manage to squeeze their way out into the (surprisingly empty) hallway, and Shiro blinks a few times to readjust her eyes to the sudden flare of warm light that fills the space. Then she finally sees Keith properly, and she has to take a moment to contain herself before she openly gapes at her friend. 

Keith is  _ stunning _ . 

Well, if Shiro's being fair, she's always stunning. There's beautiful ferocity in Keith, in her raven hair and her shining dark eyes, in the way she carries herself with newfound power and grace. But Shiro is wholly unprepared to see her silhouette in a velvet floor length dress the same shade as the wine in her glass. Sleeveless, to better show off the muscle in her lithe build. Someone (probably Lance) has skillfully tied her stubborn hair into a topknot, although it has started to escape and her face is framed by a few strands. Knowing Keith, her knife is still strapped to her leg -- it wouldn't be a complete evening gown without a dagger, after all. 

"Are you alright?" she asks, concern furrowing her brow. 

"Yes, I'm fine." Shiro stumbles over her words. "Wow, you look --" 

Wonderful? Beautiful? Otherworldly? Her mind races with any number of compliments she could give Keith, but all that comes out of her mouth is; "-- clean." 

It's only a moment of realization before Keith starts to laugh. "Clean?" 

She swears she flushes red to her ears. "I didn't mean it like --" 

"I know I’m not usually a picture of hygiene, but I didn’t realize it was that bad." She manages to say through her fit of laughter. Shiro nearly responds with a quip that Keith always looks good before she accepts that it won't fix her flub. 

"No! I meant it, like, because you're not usually so dolled up --" 

"We've sparred together enough times, Shiro. I know what you meant." She reaches over to pluck the drink out of Shiro's hand with her long, graceful fingers, swirling the crimson wine around for a playful moment before the glass meets her lips. They're red too, the same shade as her dress. When she lowers the glass an imprint of her mouth lingers on its rim.

Shiro has to try her hardest not think about all the times Keith has pinned her to the training mats in their stints between missions, or the times when Shiro manages to flip her onto her back while sparring, and the way the look on that pretty spitfire face made her blush from head to toe. 

Keith smiles back at her, too earnest, and says; "You look beautiful, Shiro." 

She doesn't know if these feelings are a mutually-kept secret, but she pretends they are. That illusion is being tested at this gala. 

"Thank you," she replies, taking the glass back when it's offered. She inclines her head in the direction of the door. "Can we step outside for a bit? 

"I'll do you one better," Keith says, and takes Shiro's hand again. 

They ascend the stairs outside the hall, and after a couple minutes of exploration in the grand estate they come across what Shiro assumes was Keith's destination; a balcony overlooking the gardens, lonely and inviting under the brilliant sky. There are others below them in the courtyards, no doubt also escaping the stuffy atmosphere of the party inside, but outside is lovely; strands of music – Shiro thinks it might be  _ La Vie En Rose _ playing below – and bits and pieces of party conversation float up through the still night air, leaving them on the periphery of the evening but not away from it completely. Shiro has always been an outsider, and she knows Keith feels similar, but this time rather than feeling excluded it feels like their own private party. 

As soon as they set foot on the balcony, Keith unceremoniously kicks off her heels. They land precariously close to the edge, but if she cares, she doesn't show it. 

Shiro laughs. She sets her now-empty glass on the ledge of one of the huge windows. "So that's why you wanted to come up here." She knows Keith is more apt to don a pair of combat boots, much to the disapproval of their commanding officers, and can only imagine the discomfort she must have at wearing heels all evening. If Shiro is currently suffering in her apparel, Keith must not be doing well in hers either. 

"That's part of it." She sits down on the balcony's stone edge to survey the festivities below, tucking one leg beneath her. She sighs. "I hate these things." 

Shiro reaches for her shoulder in sympathy. Her prosthetic is never cold, per se, but the metal has cooled now that they've come outside, and Keith shivers slightly when it makes contact with her skin. When Shiro moves to pull back, though, Keith reaches up to hold the hand in place. 

"That bad?" 

She makes an undignified face. "Too many people. They all want me to talk to them, they all have questions about my mom, about the  Galra , about Voltron... and I hate the way they make you talk about Kerberos. You shouldn't have to." 

"I don't mind doing it," she lies, but even she doesn't think it sounds convincing. In truth, Kerberos is still a part of the past year she doesn’t like to discuss. What little she remembers of the abduction can only manage to linger in her waking hours – it's in the dark when those moments truly come back to haunt her, where bits and flashes of the  Galra’s violent treatment of her rise to meet her in dreams. She had been lucky to survive the ordeal, and luckier still to escape, even if it hadn’t been a clean getaway. 

What Shiro remembers the clearest about Kerberos is when she'd crash landed back on earth and how Keith had come to her rescue like the universe’s most unorthodox avenging angel. One moment she was being put under by Garrison officers for questioning, and the next, she was waking up in the shell of a desolate shack in the desert, where she later learned Keith had been staying since her insubordination. She remembers coming to and seeing Keith, eyes trained skyward, glaring at the scattered sky like she was guarding Shiro from its reach. There were others there, too – a motley crew that would later become the Paladins – but Keith is the one who saved her, and she had the bruised knuckles and the banged-up station wagon to prove it. 

That was the first rescue of many. Whether from the barrel of a  raygun in her skull, or the clawed grip of a  Galra hand around her throat, or the chilling influence of an  Altean witch in her mind, Keith had been there to pull her out of the mess. 

There was something to that, to be sure. 

Keith fixes her with a look before turning her attention back to the people gathered below. She shakes her head. "I just want to remind them of the company they're in before they start getting nosy sometimes. You’d think they’d have some respect for us by now. The next admiral that asks me to dance is getting a good swing." 

Shiro steps back. "Well, I suppose I'll see myself out, then." 

Keith whips her gaze back. Her eyes are shining. "You --" She clears her throat. "You wanted to?" 

"Yes, but I'm not about to press my luck." 

She grins and hops off the railing, and Shiro pulls her own shoes off and tosses them carefully out of the way. “You’re allowed,” Keith says, reaching out to take her hand. 

The moment is entirely theirs, and Shiro takes care to  savour it. The party music distantly reaches them from wherever it's being played down below, a soft backdrop to their slow, swaying, barefoot dance. Keith is warm against her, arms wrapped around Shiro's shoulders while Shiro holds her small waist, and although Shiro holds her attention for a while she gradually tips her head back to gaze up at the stars above. Typical -- her real competition here is with the rest of the universe, caught in Keith's dark eyes. Shiro had caught her a few times in the Castle of Lions' observation deck in a similar position, just staring up into the stars in awe and wonder. A view that no one else on Earth had ever encountered before Voltron, before they'd come back to Earth and managed to streamline space travel. It had been all theirs for a beautiful, brief moment. 

How many hours had they spent together on the observation deck in calm silence? How much of that had they recaptured on Earth? 

Not enough, she thinks. They had been through a lifetime together already, and still all Shiro is brave enough to do is as steal glances at beauty from afar. This moment together is almost too much. 

After a while, Keith looks back to her. 

"Enjoying the view?" Shiro asks, blush already rising to her face. 

Keith smiles. "It's a good one." Her hands rise up to delicately cup Shiro's face. Keith can be so harsh sometimes, and so fierce -- Shiro has seen her fight tooth and nail against  Galra soldiers and come out on top -- but with Shiro, she's never anything less than gentle. Shiro thinks she might be imagining it, but Keith's gaze flickers for a moment from Shiro's eyes to her lips. 

It turns out she isn't. Not when Keith, bold Keith, leans in and kisses her. 

Their dance slows, then stops. They become two lone lovers under the pale moonlight, forgotten by the party below, content in their own little world. When Keith eventually begins to pull back from the kiss, Shiro chases her mouth to capture it in another. That's the moment where they both find an equilibrium and the kisses deepen -- Shiro decides to be daring for a moment, and pulls her in until they're flush against each other and she can feel the warmth of Keith's body against her own. Keith's arms encircle her shoulders as she leans in further, tilting her head to better angle their embrace. 

The kiss breaks off into a series of playful pecks and quiet, giddy laughter. When Shiro reopens her  eyes they meet Keith's shining gaze, her flushed face, her smiling mouth. 

"Was that--?" she begins, but doesn't get a chance to continue when she's kissed again. It's a surreal experience, kissing Keith, at the same time as it is somehow familiar -- as though they're meant to. They fit together so easily, so completely. The height Shiro has on her makes it so Keith has to incline her head just so to get the kiss just right, and it makes her unreasonably pleased. The red on her lips must be  colouring Shiro's now, and the thought only serves to make her feel more satisfied.

They finally pull apart, still tangled up in each other, and Keith whispers; "I don't know why we didn't do that earlier." 

Shiro laughs breathlessly. "I don't know, either." 

"You're too subtle, Shiro." 

She shakes her head. "I don't think so. You're just too honest." 

Keith opens her mouth as if to say something, closes it, considers her thoughts, and finally says; "I wondered if you would push me away." 

There’s too much to consider in those words for a moment like this. Shiro reaches up to caress her jawline, her thumb gently aligning along the scar on her cheek. "I could never." 

Their dance starts up again slowly, playfully, not quite in step with the faint music. They only falter in their step when the other leans in for another kiss -- it becomes a game they get lost in until the music trails off and the next song starts. 

Shiro peers down at the scene below, her arm still around Keith's waist. "We should probably go back down." 

"I guess." 

Keith steps away to retrieve her heels, but stops dead once she reaches the space where they had been left. She stares dumbly for a moment before she turns back to Shiro. 

"Where's my other shoe?" 

"You didn't leave it there?" 

Keith leans over the railing. "Oh no..." 

Shiro follows her gaze to see one shiny black heel abandoned on the lawn below, and bursts out laughing. "Oh, Cinderella..."

"What am I supposed to do?" she asks, looking faintly panicked. Her other heels dangles uselessly in her grip. 

"We've infiltrated space stations and ambushed aliens for well over a year. I think you can manage to sneak through a party with only one shoe, right? We'll just --" she makes a gesture meant to represent them navigating the crush of people in the hall downstairs. "-- and make a clean getaway." 

She narrows her eyes. "We're the captain of the Atlas and the leader of Voltron. People aren't just going to  _ not  _ notice us." 

Another idea begins to form in her mind. "I'll carry you downstairs. We could tell them you fell and twisted your ankle." 

"And have everyone stare at us? So much for a clean getaway." 

"Do you have a better idea?" 

Shiro doesn't think she does by the way she stares up at the heavens and sighs, her pretty mouth drawing in to a pout. Even frustrated, she's cute. Cute enough for Shiro to lean in and peck her once again on the cheek. 

"I'll take you out the back. No one will even notice us, and if they do, we have an alibi." She offers her outstretched arms. 

Keith allows herself to be picked up bridal-style. "You'd better not drop me, Shiro." 

Shiro gives her the sweetest smile she can -- a real one, not the fake ones she's been brandishing like weapons for the whole evening already. "Have I ever given you a reason not to trust me?" 

Keith looks like she's going to say something, and Shiro interjects; "Apart from the time I was mind-controlled?" 

She rolls her eyes. 

Okay, not her most convincing argument. 

When they've made it most of the way down the hall, Keith whispers; "What if they find us and they take me off of active duty because they think my ankle really is broken?"

"I don't see the problem. You need the rest more than anyone else I know."

She shakes her head, but Shiro can see the traces of a smile. "You're one to talk."

They don't even end up finding anyone else -- they somehow manage to slip out of the party hall unscathed, and as soon as they're out of the building Keith jumps out of her arms and they sneak around to where the cars are parked. Keith, however, has other ideas, and pulls her towards a different area. 

Shiro's surprised. "Wait, did you ride here?" 

Keith grins as she disappears around a corner. After a moment, the sound of her flying bike fills the air, and she pulls around to where Shiro stands. The hover engine kicks up dust. A marvel of alien technology, and a definitive improvement over the stolen station wagon Keith had used to rescue her when she'd crash landed on Earth again. She had reverse-engineered the bike from the  Altean hover technology they'd integrated into the rest of their technology, with help from Pidge and Hunk. Fascinating stuff -- how the world had gone from automobiles and airplanes to hover bikes and space travel in such a short span still astounds Shiro most days, and she'd been a catalyst in its progress. The world had only dipped its toes into the Space Age, had barely launched their first rocket before Kerberos, and what was supposed to be a test flight had ended up with humanity at the  centre of an intergalactic war and led to this; the stuff of science fiction right beneath her fingertips and running through her veins. 

But this moment isn't about getting excited about alien tech. This is Keith offering her a ride -- no doubt cementing them in scandal if they're caught -- and Shiro will be damned if she refuses.  So she climbs on the back, leaning in to wrap her arms around Keith's waist. 

"How did you fly here in heels?" She asks, peering down at the controls. 

Keith kicks off her other shoe. "Didn't," she deadpans. 

She shakes loose her hair from its topknot, discarding the pins carelessly. Her laughter catches the wind as the bike roars to life, and in a  moment they're speeding down the road, lit only by the brilliant moonlight. Keith drives fast -- she does everything fast, but it's the most evident when she's at the helm of a vehicle. Shiro can't see her smile, but she knows it's there, because flying always brings it out. Since Voltron, they've flown together countless times, but every single one of them sticks out in her mind. 

This time is different. When Shiro pulls herself even closer to Keith, there's something more there -- it reassures her this is how they'll go forward together. They’ve already faced the unknown hand-in-hand; now they can face the future the same way.

The night embraces them as they leave the party behind.

**Author's Note:**

> <3


End file.
